12
by mist11
Summary: Eleven. The number of lives I choked out of people. The number I stopped at. THe number they caught me with. The number I was put on trial for. The number I had when I was decided insane. The number I have until I start again.
1. Prologue: You lost the game bitch

Prologue

White. Everything is white. White floors, white doors, white ceiling, white walls, white bed and even white clothes. Every damn thing is white. I suppose they have something against colors. Either that or they just don't like the people that live here. My fellow patients and I.

Patient. I wouldn't call us that. It's more like........freaks. Yeah. That's more like it. Well that's what those "doctors" call us behind our backs. So I'll just use that word since the majority of them use it. It isn't our fault we're in this "facility." Well a select few of us chose this life. Murderers. Drug addicts. Abusers of some kind. Just to name some.

Bad thing about it is that I'm one of those select few. Well I don't see it as bad but you might. I'm not an abuser or a drug addict but I am a murderer. More like a serial killer but hey I made a living so you people who are siting there reading this thinking that I'm a dumbass or whatever, you people can go to hell. Geez.

I killed people for about a total of three years I guess. The papers called me a genius, but that didn't matter I killed people so the cops of course had to go and hunt me down. Thankfully for me they are a group of dumbasses so I lasted are really long time..... Until they hired this asshole detective that went and ruined it for me. I still remember his name. Nara Shikamaru, the man that put me in this shithole. He even had the guts to come and visit me. Everyone thought I was harmless without any sharp objects near me. People really underestimate the efficiency of finger nails. To put it short he had a few very pretty red marks on the right side of his face.

Eleven. That was my number. Eleven. The number of lives I choked out of people. The number I stopped at. The number they caught me with. The number I was put on trial with. The number I had when I was determined insane. The number I had when I was thrown into hell. The number I have until I start again.

I'm not saying I'll ever get out if this place. I'm just saying that I'll never stop until I breathe my last breath. They can't stop me even though they dumped me into a mental institution. Oh no, I will keep on killing til my heart is content with my work.

I have contemplated who will be the lucky person to advance me to number twelve for two whole years. The "doctors" who work here fear me. When I look at them, they stiffen in their place and won't look me in the eye. My fellow "patients" won't sit anywhere near me, even the most cold-blooded people won't but thats only because they believe that I'm beneath them.I have searchd a long time for number twelve and I am still making my decision on how, when, and where I should kill them.

The most important thing is surpassing the number eleven. If I don't I would have to kill myself if that ever happened. Now of course I don't hate myself but if I'm stuck on number eleven forever, I might just off myself. Seriously. Eleven would haunt me. Hang over my head, taunting me.

"You lost the game, bitch."


	2. The Sighting

Sorry for the long wait. School was really piling up but summer is here now! Woohoo!

Enjoy!

* * *

He decided to visit me today. Maybe he came for an apology, but I truly could care less. Sure I took everything from him- well killed everything would be a more accurate phrase. But to be fair his wife had it coming to her. She was just another whore walking the streets, shooting up drugs, and probably fucking every man on the planet. She was just a waste of space, he knows it too. Will he get an apology? No, probably not. But he decided to try anyway.

I'm sitting in a room with white walls, of course, in a straightjacket. As if that could stop me if I got motivated enough. I'm already agitated today. One of the doctors decided it was time to dye my hair a "natural" color. I decided to inform that I was born with pink hair and if he didn't like it he could go gut himself. He didn't appreciate that, but my hair was not touched. I made sure of it. You just don't screw around with my hair.

My gaze found the reason a I was sitting this damned room, which had no air condition so my hair was plastered to my face with sweat. Despite how awful I probably looked he looked worse. Bags under his, yellowish eyes probably from all the alcohol he consumed, and it looked like he was going bald. I just _had_ smile at his misfortune. I would have burst out laughing but I'm sure the guards wouldn't appreciate that.

The man cleared his throat as if he was about to speak. He instead made choking noises like he couldn't find the air to say the words he needed to say. That's when I lost it. That's when I couldn't hold back anymore. I started to laugh. Not the " I'm insane" laugh, just the " I find something funny that you don't" laugh. Once I started I couldn't stop. My sides began to ache as I continued on and my lungs yearned for me to stop and just let them breath. But for some reason I couldn't. I found the pain on his face worth the ache and burn. It made it all the more hilarious.

"...H-How dare you laugh at me!" The man was turning a glorious shade of red and slammed his fists down on the table. He apparently found his speech again. I stopped laughing only to glare at him.

"I will laugh at you 'cause you're holding a grudge against me for that piece of trash that used to be your "wife." She didn't love you. She never did." With that I smirked." If you're here for an apology you aren't going to get one. I don't feel the tiniest bit sad for what I did. And deep down you're happy I did it too. I took the weight of the burden off of your shoulders. Hell, I probably got you some money 'cause she probably had life insurance you purchased for her. Admit it. You're happy she's gone. Go on. Thank me."

His black eyes widened and stared at my green ones with disgust. But I saw it. For a split second. The shock. He saw that I knew he was glad he didn't have to take care of her and he hated me for it. He was struggling with something to say but obviously couldn't say anything back. He got up and left.

"Thanks for wasting my time." I called after him." It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Uchiha." When he walked out the door, I waited for the guards to take me back to my room. And waited. And waited. That's when I realized that it was Tuesday. I had therapy.

"Shit."

* * *

" So how are you today Sakura?" my therapist, Mr. Something Kabuto, asked. I stared at him as if that was dumbest question that had ever crawled out of his worthless mouth.

"Fabulous." My voice dripped venom. And sarcasm, of course. " By the way, I was wondering if you had decided to come out of your closet yet. Its a pretty big known fact that you're being screwed by that Orochimaru guy. Which why you let a gross sicko like that do that to you is anyone's best guess." I smirked. He hates it when people say things like that.

His smile dropped a bit, but it was still there. It was now accompanied by a vein throbbing in his forehead.

"Sakura we are not here to discuss my life. We are here to help you try and help repair your fucked up one. Which that will most likely never happen." It was his time to smirk but my turn to laugh. He looked a bit confused by my action.

"Please! I love my life. I wouldn't change anything I did. But you on the other hand..." I let my sentence hang and just shook my head.

"You're happy with what you did to those people?" Poor thing. He looked incredibly lost. He just didn't understand how powerful it made you feel to take a life. Watching the happiness and joy leave a persons eyes for ever to be replaced by nothingness, and to know that you were the cause of it is a feeling I can't describe. Sometimes, if the person puts up a good fight, the feeling afterwards is a rival to an orgasm. It makes you feel the most pleasure.

"I wouldn't take back anything. It felt wonderful to watch the life drain form them. Never to return." I sighed." You really wouldn't understand until you experienced the feeling."

"I'll pass." He had a look of disgust on his face, but I know that everyone has a need to kill. To let loose and just lose it. Everyone does.

"You're a horrible liar."

"Not everyone is like you Sakura."

"They're loss." I shrugged my shoulders." Everyone would have more fun if they were like me." I smiled innocently. The exact opposite of what I was. He sighed.

"I think you take too much pleasure in the pain and misfortune of others. You're a sadist." He said simply. But I already knew what I was. Geeez. I'm not stupid.

"And I think you take too much pleasure from letting Orochimaru fuck you sensless. You're a masochist." I shrugged. Everyone knows having something stuck up your ass has got to hurt.

"I think we're done for the day." He sighed." We're getting nowhere." The guard walked in to escort me to my room. I got up and waved happily to Kabuto, who was currently rubbing his temples trying to rid himself of a headache.

The door shut and locked behind us as we exited the therapy sessions room. We walked done the hallways to get to my room, but before we reach it we have to walk past an office. And that's when I saw him. Standing there with a bored expression on his face, his hair pulled back into his signature ponytail, and four beautiful scratch marks down the right side of his face. The man who was the reason I was stuck in this hellhole. Nara Shikamaru.

* * *

I hope that wasn't too suckish. I tried my best! Im gonna try to update sooner. Please review. :)


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